


Man's Best Friend

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Minor Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, miller pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7441471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nate hears that Jasper is getting a puppy, he’s not immediately aware of the impact it will have on his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man's Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Bellarke is very background but there's enough of it I thought I should give a heads up.
> 
> Miller+Clarke brotp 5ever

When Nate hears that Jasper is getting a puppy, he’s not immediately aware of the impact it will have on his life.

“I think it’ll be good for him,” says Clarke, flicking popcorn kernels at the screen when the batter fouls out. “I’ve heard pets can be therapeutic and shit in times of grief.”

Her dad, when he was alive, managed a minor league baseball team and ingrained in his daughter a love for the sport. Most of Nate’s friends either give up out of boredom three innings in or whine so much about how bored they are that Nate ends up wishing they’d leave. But not Clarke. Clarke appreciates the beauty of the game. Clarke gets hilariously frustrated with forces beyond her control. Clarke can stay.

“You know when you say things like that you sound like an alien that’s trying to pass for human, right?”

A popcorn kernel bounces off his cheekbone.

“Shut up. I’m just saying, Jasper’s been in a bad place since Maya died, and I think a dog could help. It probably would’ve helped me.”

Nate eyes her, unsure whether this is turning into a Serious Conversation.

“You probably get what he’s going through,” he finally says, choosing his words carefully enough that she can steer it whichever way she wants.

“Kind of,” she shrugs. “My dad and Wells were gone so suddenly. I don’t know what it’s like to watch someone get sicker and sicker like that. The dread he must have lived with every day.” She picks at a thread in the hem of her shorts, lost in thought. Nate’s heart twinges a little for her.

“But puppies,” he prompts lightly. She cracks a smile.

“Puppies,” she agrees. “Puppies are adorable and super needy.”

“Well, now I’m sold.”

She rolls her eyes when she discovers she’s out of kernels. They’re all on the floor in front of the television.

“It’ll take his mind off of things. It’s like a distraction and a pick-me-up all in one little ball of fluff and joy.”

“Plus it gives you an excuse to go over and check on him.”

“Exactly,” she says, unrepentant. “Easy puppy access for me. I’m getting another beer. You want one?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s only one left.”

“So I’ll just take one of Bellamy’s.”

Nate rolls his eyes.

“Convince me again that you’re not harboring a crush on my roommate.”

Bickering carries them through the rest of the game and by the time, a few weeks later, Jasper gets to actually bring his new puppy home to the apartment he and Monty share, Nate has mostly forgotten it’s happening.

And for a blissfully ignorant couple of hours, it continues to not impact his life in the slightest.

It begins innocuously enough with a photo on their group text.

It’s not so much the puppy that gets him. It’s that all Nate can see is  _Monty_ , holding the puppy. Nate can hardly see the puppy for the way he's distracted by Monty’s soft smile and the way his glasses are slipping down his nose as he watches it sleep and the way he’s cuddling it against his chest. It draws unfair attention to his hands and his arms and his face and the whole thing steps Nate’s pining up to a new level.

When he met Monty, Nate had been reeling from the end of a serious relationship. Everything in his life had felt like it was turned upside down, and then Monty showed up and he was quick and a little snarky, as all of Nate’s favorite people are, but he was also soft-spoken and so _steady_. Nate needed something steady in his life.

Nate had made a drunken pass at him on the rebound and Monty had shut him down so kindly it kind of hurt, because Nate realized when he sobered up that he’d probably just screwed up the only chance he’d get.

So he and Monty are friends, and Nate is more than happy with that. Being Monty’s friend is better than not having Monty in his life at all.

But being Monty’s friend also means Nate hasn’t really had the opportunity to move on, and getting bombarded weekly– even daily– with adorable photos of Monty with the dog is not going to help.

Still, Nate saves the photo as if on autopilot and prepares himself as best he can for the torture to come.

It should be an easy fix: don’t look at the pictures and let them get buried with the swift and inevitable responses from Octavia and Harper full of heart-eye emoji and capslocked gushing. Yet somehow Nate lacks the necessary self control, so he opens them, stares for a minute, then stews in misery for the rest of the day.

Monty’s not always in the photos, of course. Sometimes it’s Jasper, sometimes the puppy on its own. Other friends of theirs make appearances too, and Nate knows what it says about himself that he never ends up saving any of the other pictures.

Probably the same thing it says about him when a triumphant feeling blazes through him low and warm, simply because Monty chose to sit in the booth next to Nate instead of in the equally empty space next to Raven.

“I’m surprised you guys could pry yourselves away.”

“We’re trying to get him used to being home alone,” Monty explains.

“I already miss him,” Jasper whines, earning an unimpressed, “Pathetic,” from Raven.

“When are you gonna stop calling him ‘the puppy’?” Miller asks, and Monty turns to smile at him.

“We wanted your help with that, actually.”

“My help?” Nate asks, surprised. He’s even more surprised to see Monty blush.

“Everyone’s help,” Jasper clarifies. “We can’t agree on a name.”

“I like Spock–”

“But this is not a Star _Trek_ family,” Jasper says with enough exasperation Nate knows he’s repeating himself, and probably not for the first time. He hides his smile in his drink. “What’s wrong with Bark-2-D2?”

“How about, it’s terrible?” Nate offers. Monty snickers quietly next to him and the triumph flares again. “It’s too much of a mouthful. What else you got?”

Most of Jasper’s are character names taken to the next level with puns– Harry Pupper, Jabba the Pup, Bark Kent. He keeps generating ideas for longer than Nate thought possible, until finally Octavia growls that she can’t stand listening to it anymore.

“It’s honestly impressive,” Nate tells Monty while the others bicker. “How does he come up with them all?”

“I know. I’m halfway tempted to just let him name it,” Monty replies, low and private.

“Don’t do it,” Nate advises.

“I said halfway.” Monty shoots him a grin. “So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“What do you think we should name the dog?”

“Oh.” Nate shrugs one shoulder. The one Monty’s not leaning against, having drifted closer and closer all night. Nate doesn’t want him to notice and back away. “I liked a lot of the ones you suggested. Smaug was a good one. Or Loki.”

“I see how it is,” Monty teases. “You don’t have any ideas of your own, so you’re ripping off mine.”

“Fine,” Nate says, tamping down his smile. “You could go in a different direction with the geek thing. Like, name it Ajax or Pixel or Mac.”

“iDog.”

“Or name it Gif and let it be a walking instigator”

“You just want to watch the world burn, don’t you?”

Nate smiles outright now.

“I never said they were _good_ ideas.”

Monty laughs quietly, distracted by Bellamy and Raven, who have jumped into the fray to back up Jasper and Octavia, respectively.

“You know what I’d name it?” Nate asks, struck with inspiration and the desire to reclaim Monty’s attention.

“Do I ever.”

“Not for myself, but for you guys: I’d name it Chewbacca.” He gives it a second to sink in. “It’s the right fandom, Jasper can make it punny, it’s–”

“It’s perfect,” says Monty, smiling wide.

And there’s the triumph again.

Nate makes it another week before Bellamy and Clarke catch on to his plight, namely because Clarke loves taking not only photos but also _videos_ of Chewie and forcing them on Nate when there’s a lull in the game.

The videos add a whole new element. He can hear how enamored Monty is as he coaxes Chewie onto the slide at the local playground. He can hear Monty coo sympathetically when the puppy flinches in confusion as it experiences rain for the first time. He can hear delight in Monty’s laugh when Chewie tries to climb the stairs and falls and flops all over himself. The final straw is watching Monty bark and howl at Chewie, the puppy trying its hardest to imitate him.

“Okay, what is the point of this exercise?” He grumbles, shoving Clarke’s phone with all her adorable videos away for what feels like the millionth time.

“You can’t go to the puppy, so I’m bringing the puppy to you.” She pats his shoulder consolingly. “Leave no man behind, Miller.”

“Why can’t Miller go to Chewbacca?” Bellamy calls from the kitchen.

“Allergies,” he calls, praying that Bellamy will be cool. Unfortunately, coolness is too much to ask of Bellamy.

“Since when are you allergic to dogs?” Bellamy plunks down on the couch between him and Clarke, frowning at his roommate. “We kept Lincoln’s here the whole time he and O were on their honeymoon and you were fine.”

“Dammit,” Nate sighs, leaning his head back on the couch. “I forgot about that.”

He feels, rather than sees, Clarke and Bellamy exchange a look.

Nate has drunkenly cried on his roommate more than once about how kind Monty is, how smart Monty is, how funny Monty is, so he feels like he can talk to Bellamy about this. If nothing else, Bellamy has less of a leg to stand on when it comes to being stupid about feelings because he won’t even admit his.

And Clarke, well, she might actually be supportive and not just make fun of him the whole time. He could probably tell Clarke too.

“It’s not the dog. It’s Monty. With the dog.”

“He’s pining,” Bellamy fills in for Clarke, patting Nate patronizingly on the shoulder. “If you hung out with Chewie for an afternoon you’d probably get desensitized to the cuteness. At least a little.”

“This feels like a disproportionate response,” says Clarke, her face scrunching in thought. “You’re rolling in cute pictures of your crush with puppies. Why is this a problem?”

“Because,” Nate grumbles. “It’s like a daily reminder: here’s this cute picture of a guy you really like, and whoops– you don’t have a chance with him. Sucks to be you.”

“Oh, so you’re being stupid,” Clarke scoffs, and there goes Nate’s chance of getting real emotional support. But then she adds, “I’m pretty sure you have every chance with Monty. And by ‘pretty sure,’ I mean ‘one hundred thousand percent positive.’ I don’t think I can oversell your chances, here.”

Nate’s eyes fly open and he stares at Clarke as hard as he can. It’s his dad’s interrogation stare, the one he used to get both criminals and his teenage son to confess their crimes, and while Clarke is apparently impervious to it– she doesn’t even flinch, just looks vaguely amused– she also doesn’t seem to be lying.

Nate’s brain short-circuits and all he can manage is a weak, “Huh.”

Bellamy snorts.

“Well-said.”

“I can’t believe it,” Clarke grumbles, stealing a chip from Bellamy’s bag. They’re not even the kind he likes, so Nate is pretty sure he only got them for her. “Miller’s got to be the only person in the universe who’s this cool and composed when he finds out the guy he likes is into him too.”

“Trust me,” Bellamy grins, “he’s going all squirmy on the inside, just like the rest of us.”

Clarke stares at Bellamy, a little bit hurt and a little bit skeptical.

“You don’t get that way,” she accuses. Bellamy gives her a wry smile and Nate suddenly knows what’s coming.

“It’s pretty much my default state of being, around you,” Bellamy says, as nonchalant as he can be. “That’s probably why you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh,” Clarke breathes, her eyes locked on his. A strange tension starts to build and Nate realizes he needs to get out of there as soon as possible.

So he clears his throat and stands, swiping his keys and phone quickly off the coffee table.

“Yeah, I was gonna feel bad about leaving in the middle of the game, but I really don’t want to be around for what’s happening next, so– Keep it out of the common space. And use protection.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Bellamy says, not even looking at Nate as he makes a hasty exit.

And then he’s in the hallway, with a newfound hope and nowhere to hide.

Well, not _nowhere_. He could go to the library, or the movies, or Raven’s place, but he’s afraid of what might happen if he waits too long, lets his hopes float too high.

He’s already knocking on Monty’s door before he realizes he has no idea what he’s going to say. The door opens before he can run away.

“Nate,” Monty says in surprise, a smile lighting up his face. He’s only got the door cracked, and Nate can hear the snuffling behind him that indicates Chewbacca is excited about having a visitor. “Did Jasper invite you over? Because he’s not here–”

“Uh, no,” Nate says, finding his voice. “I came to see you, actually.”

“Cool, let me just put Chewie in the crate.”

“You don’t have to,” Nate says hurriedly, and Monty pauses in scooping up the dog. He _is_ stupidly cute, his little legs flailing like he’s trying to doggy paddle in the air, ears and nose straining toward Nate as if he’s eager to make friends.

“It’s not a problem. You have allergies, right?”

“No, actually.” Nate laughs nervously, holding his hand out for Chewie to sniff and lick and whatever else dogs do. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh.” He sounds confused but not judgmental, which is a good sign. “Okay. Well, come in, I guess.”

Chewie lets out a string of plaintive yips when Monty moves so that Nate can pass by.

“He likes me already,” Nate says, smiling at the thought. Even if Monty shoots him down, he’ll do it really nicely like before, and then Nate will have a puppy to comfort him. It’s probably the best worst-case scenario he can come up with.

“Everybody he meets is automatically his best friend,” Monty says, leading him to the couch where he sets Chewie down. The dog immediately clambers toward Nate.

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t feel special?” Nate asks when Chewie lunges at him, licking everything he can reach. Nate scratches behind Chewie’s ears and the dog nuzzles into Nate’s hand, which is distracting enough that Nate doesn’t even notice when Monty doesn’t respond right away. He looks up to find Monty watching them with an odd look on his face. “You okay?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, fine.” He gives his head a little shake and offers Nate another smile that’s a watt or two dimmer than the one before. “So you’re a dog person after all. Why the cover story?”

Nate wets his lips nervously.

“To be honest, I’ve been trying to ignore the massive thing I have for you, and seeing you with a puppy all the time was just– not gonna help.”

He looks down at Chewbacca while Monty digests this, watching the dog gnaw on the edge of Nate’s shirt. He offers Chewie his finger to gnaw on instead.

“Why were you ignoring it?” Monty asks carefully. It’s not the ecstatic, passion-filled response Nate was hoping for, but then, that’s not really Monty’s style. And it’s not a no either.

“Because I felt like an asshole for drunkenly propositioning you when I was clearly not over my last relationship.” Nate feels his face flush. His skin color has always helped mask that reaction, but he’s pretty sure Monty can see it anyways. “I felt like an asshole for drunkenly propositioning you at all. I was pretty sure if I ever had a shot with you, I wasted it that night.”

“But you’re not ignoring it now.” Nate looks up at Monty, trying to read his voice. His facial expression is just as measured, just as inscrutable.

“It seemed like time,” he says, wishing Monty would just give him a clue one way or the other.

And then Monty’s face splits into a smile so bright and pure Nate actually feels a sting of relief.

“Yeah, good timing,” he teases. “Wouldn’t want to deprive yourself of the puppy.” And then he leans across the couch to slide one hand to rest on the back of Nate’s neck, the other scooping Chewie out from between them so he can slide closer.

Kissing Monty isn’t sloppy like when he tried a couple of years ago, and it doesn’t make his head spin like the nerves he had working up to the confession. It’s just like Monty: steady. Grounding. It’s like something slots into place inside of Nate, and he suddenly knows which way is up.

“Tell me more about this massive thing you have for me,” Monty says without pulling away. Nate is grinning as he nips at Monty’s lip.

“I can’t tell if that’s a euphemism or if you want me to keep talking about my feelings.”

Monty chokes on his laughter.

“Before we get to any other massive things, I feel like I should tell you I thought you only wanted me back then because you were drunk and lonely, and that was a huge disappointment because I’m at least halfway in love with you.”

Nate kisses him again, softer this time. Reassuringly.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing. We figured it out.”

“Okay, then–” He kisses him again. “I’m in love with you. Not halfway; all the way. And I promise not to make you feel like I’m not. Deal?”

Monty nods, his eyes soft.

“Deal.”

When they get around to talking about things, Nate owns up to all the photos saved to his phone.

“It’s okay,” Monty teases, nestled into the crook of Nate’s arm as he scrolls through Nate’s album. “I would have been totally devastated to be getting pictures of you like this every day.” A thoughtful look crosses his face. “Now I wouldn’t mind so much. I could make myself a calendar.”

Nate snorts and steals his phone back, opening to the camera with one hand while the other strokes Chewie’s fur. He’s asleep on Nate’s chest, curled into an impossibly tiny ball, and Nate’s heart has never been more full.

“This can be the first page,” he tells Monty, quickly saving the selfie as his wallpaper before setting his phone aside.

“The world may not be ready for all that cuteness,” Monty says solemnly, running his fingers through Chewie’s fur so that his fingers brush up against Nate’s. It’s kind of the best.

“Well,” Nate says, having given the problem due consideration. “They’ll just have to get used to it.”

He stands by that position, too, because every time he checks his phone; every time he looks down at Monty and Chewie, snuggled against him; every time he thinks it can’t get any better, it does. And it continues to be the best thing he’s ever seen.


End file.
